The spring breezes were too tempting for us to stay inside. The daffodils and crocuses were waving for us to come out and join them in their frolic. So, we had to gear up…a shirt for my Tarzan son, shoes for both kids, and …sniff, sniff… apparently a clean diaper for the wee one.
Oh, she fought it tooth and nail as we climbed the steps. “Wanna go outSIDE! Wanna go outSIDE!!!!! I want to go outSIIIIIIDE!!!!” she explained in no uncertain terms, just in case I had forgotten what was on the agenda for the rest of the afternoon.
I sat her on the changing table and picked up the necessities. I looked at her pink pouty face, sweaty bangs, and wet eyes and gave her my own pouty face. “Come on, honey…” I coaxed with mock pity. She looked squarely in my face and said, “Don’t change me.” No longer a plea, no longer a redirect, but a command. No wavering ‘mommmyyyy’ attached, nothing sweet anymore. Just a clear statement.
“Don’t change me.”
Hmmm…how often have I begged that of my Father? Don’t change me, God…change him. Don’t change me, change the situation. I want to do what I want to do, God. Please don’t change me. Sometimes pleadingly I say it. Sometimes defiantly.
Realization: God knows when I’m covered with filth. God can sense my stench and my need for a change. Better than I can. God knows that whatever lies on the other side of the change will be more enjoyable after the change.
We did go outside. We frolicked with the flowers and ran with the breezes…and we had both been changed.